Fear No More the Heat of the Sun
by Rosalyn Angel
Summary: Aya dies, and Yohji thinks. R for some language.


Author's Notes: This is a dark diddy inspired by a sonnet of the same title I read. I've wanted to contribute another Weiss story for a while now, even if it was a very small one, so I finally did. And it's weird. ^_^

Warnings: The title sounds poetic and pretty. The fanfic itself sounds harsh and has bad language. Yohji POV. Shounen-ai if you squint really, really hard. I personally think there isn't much of it there at all. But I guess there can be.

Enjoy, and please review!

"Fear No More the Heat of the Sun"

by: Rosalyn Angel

It's hard, you know. Waking up everyday now. Waking up every single fucking day to cold blankets and the hot sun mercilessly beating on me through my window. I gotta get up though, you know, for Omi and Ken. I have to put a happy smile on my sleepy face and cheer and smoke and pretend. I'm not affected by you at all, no. I'm just fine. They believe that; good for them. I'm happy for them. They see me being strong, so they figure they gotta be strong too. Good for them.

I secretly think they're being idiots.

All right, so we're all pretending to be strong. That's just fine and dandy. We're trying to go on with our lives; that's good. It's been a few weeks, after all. We should be pulling ourselves together. We've seen a lot in our miserable lives. What's different about this one thing? This one, single, monumental thing?

You died, Aya. You fucking _died_. Mister High and Mighty, Mister Fearless Leader, Mister Antisocial, Apathetic, Fucking _Untouchable_—died. Who said you could? Who gave you permission to leave the rest of us behind in this rotting place? You think you can escape from all this just because you take a bullet too many times?

Well, I guess you can. I guess you did. Because you aren't here anymore, and we're all trying to smile and reassure each other without screaming.

It's stupid. Why bother? Omi, stop acting like everything will be okay. You know it won't. We're short one person. Ken, stop trying to make everyone laugh when you can't even truly laugh yourself. All of our faces are stretching from fake smiles. All of our faces hurt. All of our eyes burn.

I guess I'm the most idiotic, though. Go on. Call me stupid. Call me a moron. I know you want to. And if you could have, you would. I can hear it now. I'm supposed to practice what I preach, right? Why scold them if I'm doing the same? If I _want_ to do the same? Well, I dunno. It feels good to be angry at something. At people. I guess I should feel bad for saying that. But I don't. I sure as hell don't.

I'm angry at you most of all. Dying like that on the black ground. Leather coat being dyed red all over. Me watching and staring in horror from a safe spot. Me frozen. You gazing up at the night sky like it was some dramatic movie and you were the star having his glamorous death scene. I saw your smile. That tug at the corners of your mouth on your pale, pale face. I saw your clouded amethyst eyes through your blood red bangs; saw the fading glint in their depths. I heard the blasts of the deciding guns. I saw your _fucking smile_.

I bet you're happy now. I bet that's what you always wanted. You don't have to worry about things anymore, after all. Your sister is alive and well. She's off somewhere in another country, having the time of her young life in some great school. So you figured you were no longer necessary, and when death came for you, you spread open your arms without a second thought. No more worries for Aya Fujimiya. He's flying free.

No more having to yell at me to wake up. No more scowling at me for flirting with a girl. No more stress over assignments, no more longing to speak to your sister but feeling too guilty to do so, no more dark thoughts in the dark night, no more hot summer days making you sweat like you hate, no more snowy winters making you frown as the roads froze up, no more perfect flower arrangements done by your long-fingered hands, no more worries.

I hate you.

Look at what you left behind. Go on, look. See Omi? See him trying to act happy? Big blue eyes and all. See Ken? His kicks at the soccer ball aren't quite as powerful anymore. No one to make him pissed off enough. See me? Lying dejected on this bed and counting the cracks in the ceiling? Do you see me, Aya? Go on, look. See what you left behind.

But oh well. Because you don't have to worry about anything anymore, do you? You died. Not a second thought given to me or anyone else. Just closed your eyes and sighed out your last breath.

No more worries for Aya Fujimiya.

He's flying free.

** ~fin~**


End file.
